


Candles

by octopodian, staticbees



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Jewish Character, F/F, Gen, Jewish Agent Carolina, Jewish Character, Trans Agent Carolina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-02 21:58:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14554392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopodian/pseuds/octopodian, https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticbees/pseuds/staticbees
Summary: Snapshots of Agent Carolina, and different stages of her life, through the holidays she celebrates.





	1. Hannukah (childhood)

Agent Carolina is Jewish.

She’d known this since she was a kid, though she didn’t think a lot of it then: her dad told her about Hanukkah and helped her light candles in the menorah.

Carolina was too young to really understand it, but she enjoyed it all the same. She loved eating the chocolate coins, and getting presents before all of her friends (she got them every single day, she bragged, plus the Christmas ones). She especially liked watching the candles burn, and how pretty the menorah was as it glowed in the window.

She was too young to understand it, but not too young to _ feel _ it. She knew there was something going on that she didn’t quite understand yet.

And, as it turned out, that she wouldn’t understand for quite a long time, because that was everything that her dad taught her about being Jewish. No visits to Synagogue, or stories about his parents, or lessons about his history. They didn’t celebrate any of the major holidays, just a half-assed Hanukkah before Christmas every year because Allison thought it was cute. 

Her dad thought religion was everything wrong with the world: that every religious person was somehow deluded. According to him, he knew better than them, and prided himself on that. So, all Carolina got were a few candles, a prayer with no meaning, and some presents she opened a week or two earlier than the rest of her Christmas gifts. 

She was okay with that. It wasn’t anything special, then.

Then, she turned 12. Her mom died, her dad became a shell, and suddenly she had a lot more to worry about than an old religion her dad snorted at and some candles.

When he became the Director of Project Freelancer, he was sharper, and older, but he was still the same self-righteous son of a bitch who would do anything to be better than everyone else.

When people ask her if her parents were Jewish, she almost says no. He hadn’t raised her Jewish, by a long shot, and once her mother died he barely raised her at all.


	2. Rosh Hashanah (on the MOI)

Carolina would often pace the halls of the Mother of Invention while the training room was occupied. She usually didn’t see much, just guards that almost bowed in front of her and occasional technicians who disappeared as soon as they came.

So she was a little shocked to see one of her fellow freelancers quietly smuggling food out of the mess hall. 

“CT?” Carolina says, raising an eyebrow. The other whips around. 

“Hey.” She pauses, looking down at the apples and loaf of bread she’d clearly snagged from the mess hall. “I have a good reason for this.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” She wouldn’t bother reporting this, but her curiosity was definitely piqued. 

“It’s Rosh Hashanah.” Carolina stares blankly. “Jewish new years, basically.”

“I... didn’t know you were Jewish.” CT tenses ever so slightly and Carolina quickly elaborates, “my dad was too. I just didn’t know you were.”

CT relaxes again. “So, you’re not gonna turn me in for taking food outside of regulation meals?” Carolina laughs. CT smiles back, taking that as a yes. “Cmon. Wash is waiting for me. You can join us.”

Carolina found herself awkwardly following CT back to her dorm room, feeling too large in her power armor. CT is wearing civvies: a low hanging tank top and sweats, by the looks of it. Carolina quickly looks away.

CT stops in front of one of the many identical doors. “Hey, do you mind?”

Carolina nods, opening the door, revealing Agent Washington on the floor, cross-legged. He quickly scrambles to his feet at the sight of Lina, saluting out of reflex.

“Relax, Wash. She’s gonna celebrate with us.” 

Wash sits back down, nodding with an expression Carolina can’t read. She sits down gingerly a foot or two away from him.

She tears the bread into three parts: Carolina declines, not being very hungry, but Wash takes his and takes a bite.

Next, CT takes a knife strapped to her side and cuts one of the apples into sixths. As if on queue, Wash throws her a half-empty bottle of honey that was on one of the bunks.

CT hands both of them slices, sitting between the two.

“It’s a good luck thing,” she explains for Carolina’s sake, “we eat ‘em for a sweet new year.” 

Wash raises his slice in a mock toast before taking a bite. Lina takes a bite too. It melts like gold in her mouth. How come she never got this as a kid?

Then, she holds back a smirk. “Better take a second slice, Wash, you need as much luck as you can get."

“Hey!”

“L’shanah tovah, Wash,” CT sniggers, giving Lina a warm look. She continues, “it means happy new year, basically.”

“Oh. L’shanah tovah, CT.” Her HUD sends her a pop-up: the training room is once again free. The perfectionism kicks in, and part of her panics for wasting time. She grabs another slice of apple before standing up, turning to leave, not offering any explanation, but pausing at the door. “Thanks. This was nice.” 

CT smiles. “See you later, Carolina.”

Of course, Lina had no way of knowing that soon after, CT would begin feeding information to the insurrection. That not even a year later, they’d be at a standoff, and she’d watch CT limp away, blood staining her armor, and never see her again. But for now, she steps out into the hallway, taking another bite of the apple.

_ L’shanah tovah, _ she thinks to herself, smiling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ct and wash arent my faves so they are not my strong suit but hopefully i did them justice!   
> chapter 3 should be out by friday, i think. we're going post freelancer, folks!


	3. Sabbath (Post Freelancer)

Project Freelancer gave her everything, and just as quickly took everything away. It gave her friends, meaning, and even a taste of her dad’s approval, before wrenching it all away and leaving her dangling on the side of a snowy cliff, bleeding. 

She spent years hiding, first in the wreckage of the ship, and when that was no longer safe, she stowed away on a UNSC transport sent to scavenge the wreckage. She never stopped moving. She couldn't, if she wanted to survive.

Her first priority was finding the Director, but her second priority was to put her life back together, to get some form of normalcy again.

She was in a small town on a planet called Aurora. UNSC transports came about once a month, and otherwise, there was no way off or onto the planet. Most people wore armor to combat the cold, so she wasn’t too out of place. The family who took her in didn’t ask many questions, either. She helped with chores and paid them what she had and they left her alone. It was a good cover until she figured out more about where he’d ended up. 

She’d lost everything. She, herself, was lost: her world had disintegrated and she wasn’t far from joining it.

So, not knowing what else to do, she made a list of who she was. Anything, anything at all to give her a sense of identity again.

She went by Agent Carolina. At this point, that was her name. She wore armor. Her callsign was Lima 4. She had green eyes. She had black hair that looked like her dads, so she bleached and dyed it whenever she could. She looked like her dad a lot as a kid, and even after transitioning she- 

_ Focus. Who are you  _ beyond _ what he wanted you to be, Carolina? _

She’s a girl. He definitely hadn’t wanted that. She likes fruit and brown eyes. She’s a dog person. She-

She’s Jewish. 

It’s a quiet realization. She remembers candles in the window and chocolate coins and murmured prayers. That was part of her childhood, part of her. It was tied to him, sure, since he was her only Jewish parent, but not dependent on him. It was something she could reclaim.

It’s not the strongest link, by a long shot, but she holds onto it like a lifeline.

She didn't know if it would count, without a prayer or a day or a reason behind it, but it’s all she knew how to do, so she snuck down to the kitchen and took one of the candles from the windowsill. She used an old match to light it, setting it in the window of her room gingerly. The soft yellow flame lights up the room, soft and gentle against the blue snowstorm outside.

She looks at the candle, and she breathes. In, out. In, out.

It’s something. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isnt a like, holiday-holiday but shhhhh. once again, this is based mostly on my own experiences, so im sorry if anything is fucky.


	4. Rosh Hashanah (Chorus)

The first holiday she celebrates with her brother is Rosh Hashanah.

The air lately has been cool and damp from rain. Chorus has slightly different flora and fauna than Earth, but the seasons are similar enough. Cooling weather means winter will be arriving soon, and winter means new years. Keeping track of exact dates is tough on the run, but she makes do as best as she can.

Next time she scavenges for supplies, she goes out of her way to steal raw honey from some of Chorus’ space pirates, along with a crusty loaf she guesses can pass as new year’s challah.

She thinks of CT, for a minute, and smiles.

Fresh fruit is almost impossible to steal, so she searches the Chorusian forests until she finds some fruits that look vaguely like crab apples. They’re round and wrinkled, a muted purple, but they taste sweet and Delta says there’s an 70% chance they’re edible. Epsilon sighed and had said to make that a 99%. She's just smirked, and picked another from the branch. 

She’s at one of her favorite places: a plateau in the planets mountains, where you can see almost everything right out to the horizon. While Epsilon scans the perimeter, she sits down and opens up her storage unit. She cuts the 'apples' up with a utility knife, dips them in the honey, and takes a bit. It melts sweetly in her mouth, just like she remembers. She takes another bite and the honey drips down her chin. She wipes it away, finishing the rest of the slice. 

Church lets out a snort, his hologram fizzing to life with a shimmering apple slice in his gloved hands. 

“Happy new year, sis. To a sweet one.” He raises his hand, like a toast, and lets the apple slice dissolve into a series of ones and zeroes. 

She laughs. “To a sweet one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FeatherAsh helped write this chapter (as in, they wrote like 75% of it, if not more). a HUGE thank you to them for helping with some of the holidays and stuff that i dont know as well. ilu charlie!
> 
> also sorry this is so short, im focusing my energy on the MONSTER of a passover chapter thatll come uh.. eventually. we still have to do purim first, after all!


	5. Purim (Chorus)

“So you mean to tell me,” Grif says slowly, “it’s your cultural obligation to get shitfaced?”

“It’s a solemn duty,” Carolina says dramatically, leaning back on the couch in their shared barrack. She isn’t wearing armor, for once: just some jeans and a teal shirt. The color coding helped everyone put a name to a face, and she’d gotten fond of her signature seafoam in the past few years. 

Everyone else is sitting around too, in varying levels of armor: Wash has everything on but his helmet, Donut is wearing a tank top and shorts, and everyone else lies somewhere in the middle. Red Team crowds on a single couch, with the exception of Sarge, who still refuses to sit down in the presence of blues. Wash leans on the doorframe of his bunk, Caboose is sitting on the floor, and Tucker sits on the same couch as Carolina, taking care to stay as far away from her as possible.

“I can’t even get drunk. Fuckin’ anti-semitic robot bullshit.” Epsilon grumbles from his perch on Carolina’s shoulder. 

“As Epsilon was saying,” she says, trying not to laugh, “anyone who wants to join us is welcome to.”

She’d already gotten Caboose to deliver some rations to some of the Jewish rebels on Chorus (and a special gift basket for Kimball with a _ lot _ of vodka), so she’d done about as much as she could in the middle of a war-stricken planet.

“What are you even celebrating, the invention of alcohol?” Tucker raised an eyebrow.

Carolina shrugs, pointing to Church and pawning it off on him. He groans, pinching his helmet where the bridge of his nose would be. “Uh, so, some evil dude who wore a dumb hat was like... ‘hey, I wanna kill all the jews!’ Cause, you know, that's  _ real _ original. But this chick, Queen Esther, who was Jewish, convinced the king to kill him instead. So we get drunk and celebrate that we didn’t die.”

Wash was raised orthodox, and he snorts a bit at the heavily watered down version of the story, grabbing one of the beers Carolina brought in and leaning against the far wall. Caboose nods wisely, but Tucker and the rest of Red Team are silent.

“Jesus Christ,” Simmons mumbles. 

“Hey, you asked, buddy,” Church says with a smirk.

Sarge stares at her gruffly. “How do I know y’all aren’t just poisoning us? This could finally be Blue Teams revenge!”

“No tricks, Sarge. It’s a very important part of the holiday to get so drunk that you can’t tell the difference between, uh... between red and blue.” Technically it’s between Mordecai and Haman, but she’s learned how to talk to Sarge at this point. Besides, a Torah lesson is something she isn’t qualified to give, especially not when she’s on her 2nd glass of wine.

“Gasp! Impossible!” 

Grif shrugged, sharing a look with Simmons. “Well, shit, I’m not saying no to a free beer.”

“It’s mostly wine, actually!”

“Shut up, Donut.”

Simmons shrugs, shifting closer to Grif on the couch. “Sounds good to me too. We need a break.” Everyone nods in agreement.

Carolina laughs. “Chag sameach, boys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “...what the fuck does that mean-”  
> “just shut up and drink, tucker.” 
> 
> i am 16 and have never had an alcohol please pretend this makes logical sense.


	6. Passover (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is based mostly on how ive celebrated (the whole two times ive been able to). its worth mentioning carolina is not the peak observant jew and the reds and blues are not exactly the most orthodox, sooo... don’t take this as Jewish Law.  
> If there are any errors beyond that, though, its cause I didnt catch them. 
> 
> also i had to split this dude up into 2 chapters because its HUGE and i dont wanna go too long without updates or ill forget! so uhh look for part 2 later!

She’d gotten the idea to hold a Seder for the reds and blues a few weeks ago. She knew that Epsilon would really get something out of celebrating with them, even if he denied it, and it would be good for her and Wash to start celebrating holidays again.

Chorus had pretty limited supplies, but Kimball had sympathized. She was Jewish too, as were a few of the rebels under her control. Celebrating holidays during a time of war was hard, but it was good for morale. 

Besides, winning a war at the cost of your culture wasn’t a win, Kimball had murmured. Carolina had nodded. She knew all too well about sacrificing your identity for a war.

Kimball helped her reserve the mess hall for the evening, had pointed out which chorus plants would work as bitter herbs, and even got her the matzah and the other supplies for the Seder plate. Most MREs weren’t technically leavened bread (she hoped, anyway: it wasn’t easy to check) so Carolina even managed to avoid chametz for the whole 8 days. 

The ceremony itself started pretty slowly: Carolina lit a few candles and said some prayers. There were definitely some steps she was forgetting, but it worked well enough.

They’d pushed a bunch of tables together, making a long rectangular one. Carolina headed the table, as the only Jew with a physical body who was still observant. Blue Team lined the left side, and Red Team lined the right, with one empty space reserved on the Blues side.

“Right. Everyone take either a sip of your wine or down the whole thing, depending on your tolerance. Same thing if you’ve got grape juice.” Carolina, for tonight, had decided on grape juice with a bit of wine mixed in. She wasn't looking to get drunk when she had to officiate an entire ceremony. 

Donut, bless his heart and incredibly high alcohol tolerance, downs the entire cup. Sarge does too, mostly not wanting to be outdone: everyone else, thank god, takes a sip. 

Carolina checks the next activity on the itinerary she and Epsilon had made. It was rough, and definitely incomplete, combining her memories of celebrating once on the MOI, and what Epsilon could gather using the Chorus archives and his memories from Alpha and The Director.

The four questions. Right. 

“Okay, who’s the youngest out of all of us?” She asked. Sarge raised his hand. “No.” Sarge lowered his hand, grumbling something about being  _ ‘29, you dirty blues!’ _

“I asked Theta, but he’s too nervous,” Epsilon says, shrugging. “Sorry.”

“Alright, let’s figure this out logically,” Simmons says, “What day is it?” No one responds. “...What  _ year _ is it?” Still, silence.

“Nevermind. Simmons, you spoke up, so you’re the youngest for tonight. Congratulations.”

“Fine.” He quickly scans the paper Carolina shoved in front of him, clearing his throat nervously. "Uh... can Grif go instead?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Okay, okay! On all other nights, we eat chametz and matzah. Why, on this night, only matzah?” He stumbles over the pronunciation, but relaxes when Carolina doesn't get mad. 

“We eat matzah to remind us that when the Jewish people left Egypt, they were in such a hurry their bread didn’t have time to rise,” Carolina responds, also reading from the paper.

“On all other nights, we eat all vegetables. Why, on this night, maror?” 

“We eat bitter herbs to remind ourselves of the bitter times that the Jewish people encountered.”

“On all other nights, we don't dip even once. Why, on this night, do we dip twice?”

“We dip into salt-water to remind us that as the Jews left Egypt they shed tears, and we dip into charoset to remind us of the mortar used by the Jews when they were slaves.”

“On all other nights, we eat either sitting upright or reclining. Why, on this night, do we all recline?” 

Carolina pauses as everyone notices they’re all sitting very upright. “Uh. Pretend we’re all reclining right now.” She clears her throat, “In Egypt, only royalty was allowed to recline while eating. We recline to act as royalty tonight.”

Simmons exhales loudly, and Carolina rolls her eyes. 

“Okay, time for the four sons. It’s part of Passover that you have to explain the story four ways, so at least one way will work for each person. Tucker, you can be the simple one.”

“Hey!”

“Fine. Donut, you’re the simple child.” Donut gives an enthusiastic thumbs up. “Wash, you’re the wicked, Church, you’re the wise, and…” She looks around the room. She briefly considers Caboose, but knows that Sarge will get mad if she picks too many blues. “Lopez, you’re the one who doesn’t know how to ask questions.”

“Fantástico.”

“Why am  _ I  _ the wicked one?”

“You shot Donut,” Grif says. 

“And you tried to kill us!” Caboose pipes up.

Wash looks resigned. “Oh, yeah. That.”

“More importantly, how come  _ Church  _ is the wise?” Tucker demands.

“He’s an AI, and beyond Wash, he’s the only other Jew here.” 

“What, not because I’m smart and make great decisions?” She gives him a look, and he quails. “Okay, yeah, maybe I haven’t made the  _ best  _ choices in the past.”

“Understatement of the  _ year _ ,” Tucker mutters under his breath.

Church looks like he’s going to respond, but Carolina silences him with a glance. “Okay. So, Church, you ask first, and I answer.”

Church cleared his throat and read off the piece of paper his hologram held, saying “The wise child says: I know about Passover, and I want to learn more.”

“Why does he say ‘the wise child says’ if he is the wise child?” Simmons whispers to Grif, who shrugs. Donut kicks him under the table and covers it up with a cough. 

Church is unfazed. “Look, guys, it’s just how we do it. Shut up and let her finish if you want to eat.”

Carolina smiles. “This child has already learned what it means to be a Jew. We answer this child by teaching him about the rules of Passover, and the meaning and experiences of the Jewish people.”

“The wicked child says: why are you learning about Passover?” Wash says, pulling a pout that makes Tucker snicker.

Carolina shakes her head in mock disappointment. “This child has not included himself in this question, and acts like he is not a member of the Jewish people. We answer this child by saying, ‘it is because of what God did for _me_ when _I_ came out of Egypt.” 

Donut clears his throat like he’s at an audition. “The Simple Child says: what is all of this?”

“This child needs to understand why we are sitting here. We answer him by saying, ‘God brought us out of Egypt and the land of slavery for the Jewish people.” 

Lopez stares blankly at Carolina, who gives him a thumbs up. “El niño que no sabe lo suficiente como para preguntar,” he says, pointing to himself with his thumb. 

“...I’m assuming that was right. Anyway. This child needs to learn about Judaism. Begin a discussion with this child by saying, ‘tell me, what did God do for us when we left Egypt?’” 

Simmons sighs. “I didn’t think we’d have to be reading out loud so much! I thought this was just a dinner type thing.” 

“Oh man, if you hate reading out loud, you’re gonna love the songs.” Church smirks.

“There are songs?!” Simmons squeaks.

Carolina grins. “Oh, there are songs alright.” 


	7. Passover (Part 2)

Carolina finished telling the story of Passover (which Donut offered to put on a play of, but she politely declined) and they moved on to the songs. Donut got very into Dayenu, belting like there was no tomorrow. He even had all the words memorized, though he waved it off casually as having a boyfriend in high school whose parents he wanted to impress. Sarge didn’t know how to pronounce a single word, but he gave it a considerable amount of effort, and eventually just started singing about Red Team. Everyone else mostly mumbled, though Epsilon definitely delighted in making Tucker sing as loudly as he could.

The second cup of wine came and went. Everyone washed their hands, once again stumbling their way through the Hebrew.

Carolina handed out the top and bottom pieces of Matzah, trying to hurry to the meal so Grif would stop complaining. 

“Okay, one final thing before we can eat. You’ve probably noticed there’s a plate here with a bunch of stuff on it, right? It’s a makeshift seder plate.” 

She ran over her list, making sure she knew what she was saying. Wash had helped her fill it in, using his memories of celebrating as a teen. 

The shankbone wasn’t from a lamb, but just the first animal Carolina could find in the mess hall. The bitter herbs were also native to Chorus, as were the karpas and chazeret: Kimball had helped advise her on which ones to use. The charoset used different fruits and nuts, and in the end, the only thing that wasn’t a substitution was the beitzah: even Chorus had eggs. 

It was the thought that counted, she hoped. 

“All of these things have a symbolic reason. The zeroah, or the bone, represents the lamb offered as a sacrifice in biblical times. We used the blood of the lamb to mark our doors so we would be passed over, hence the name of the holiday.

“The beitzah is a symbol of the festival sacrifice made in biblical times, and reminds us of the destruction of the temple.

“The bitter herbs, or maror, symbolize the bitterness of slavery. The charoset also represents slavery: it’s like the mortar used to build the Egyptian structures. It’s sweeter than maror to represent God's kindness. 

“Karpas, or really just the vegetable, is associated with spring, and we dip it into salt water to represent the bitterness of Egyptian slavery. Same with the chazeret.”

“You guys love bitter stuff, huh,” Sarge grunts. 

Carolina ignores the phrasing and puts on her sweetest voice. “It’s actually a good luck tradition to eat as much of the maror as you can, Sarge! I understand if you don’t think you can handle it, though.” 

Wash chokes on his water, Epsilon clapping his hand to his helmet in lieu of his mouth. She struggles to hold her smile back.

Sarge stiffens up self righteously. “Look here, Missy-”

Carolina holds up a hand, making sure everyone has some maror and charoset, and the matzah to make sandwiches.

“If anyone wants to have any extra maror, now would be the time,” she says, looking directly at Sarge.

Wash and Church stare in horror as he takes scoops of maror like ice cream, piling them on the matzah and taking an agonizingly big bite.

He chews for a bit and swallows. “Hm. Not bad.”

“Sarge, you’re fucking horrifying,” Epsilon says with complete sincerity. 

 

Donut helps Carolina pass out the food: it’s mostly just MREs and the normal cantine dinners, but it’s still nice to eat with friends. 

Grif and Simmons have a conversation on their own, talking so fast it’s hard to hear them. Epsilon talks to Lopez and Donut for a bit, while the rest of Blue Team sticks together. Carolina sits back for a moment, appreciating everyone being happy and together for the first time in a while. 

Once the conversation dies down and the food is eaten, she tops off her glass of wine with more grape juice and gestures at everyone to do the same. 

They recite the prayer for the 3rd time, drinking from their cups again. Thankfully, the only person drinking more than just a sip was Donut, so no one was falling over yet. 

Carolina turns her seder reference over to the next page and brightens up. “Okay, this is probably the coolest part.” Carolina grabbed the spare glass and poured wine into it, setting it at the free seat to her right. “This is for the prophet Elijah. Hopefully, he’ll walk by, and we can invite him to join. In fact, if someone else does, even someone we know, they’re still Elijah. They’re like, channeling him for the night, y'know? He’ll have some sort of message for someone here, we just don’t know who or what.” 

“Oh, so someone's just supposed to waltz in?” Tucker snorts. “That’s not realistic.” 

“Carolina?”

“Fuck.”

Kimball stands in the door, wearing a tucked-in light blue dress shirt and slacks. “I meant to come in earlier. Am I interrupting?”

Tucker is still cursing under his breath, and no one responds until Caboose waves. 

“Hello, Elijah!”

Kimball blinks for a second, before realizing. She makes her way to the chair at Carolina’s left, sitting down. 

“Guess I had pretty bad timing, huh?”

Carolina suddenly gets very self-aware of her breathing. “No, no, you’re fine. I’m glad you came, Kimball.” 

She smiles. “Call me Vanessa.”

Carolina may have blushed like a 2nd grader with a crush. No one could prove anything.   
They finished the Hallel and 4th cup of wine. Everyone chorused “l’shanah habah bi-rushalayim” after Carolina, they sang Chad Gadya (Carolina narrowly beat Donut for singing it fastest, grinning) and they were done.

The Reds and Blues went back to the barracks, leaving her and Kimball alone.

Carolina headed over to the sink and began to wash the dishes, grabbing a sponge and squeezing on dish soap with one hand while she began to run the water with another. In the middle of scrubbing one of the pots she’d used for cooking, she noticed Kimball –  _ Vanessa _ – standing next to her, chin-length brown hair tied up in a neat ponytail. 

“Need help?” Carolina was suddenly overly aware of the messy state of her own hair, her t-shirt soaked with sink water, and the flannel tied in a knot around her waist. 

“Uh, sure,” Carolina replied, cheeks growing warm. 

Vanessa took a sponge and started to work on the dishes piled high on the other side of the sink, looking determined as she scrubbed crusted food off a pan, water splashing onto her shirt.  

Carolina stifled her laughter. 

Vanessa glanced at her, an amused expression on her face. “What is it?” 

“I’m sorry,” Carolina told her. “It’s just – you’re so brave and confident on the battlefield, it’s funny to think of the leader of the New Republic washing dishes with a former Freelancer in a barracks kitchen after celebrating a holiday where you symbolically drink the tears of your ancestors.”

“I guess it is kinda funny when you put it that way,” Vanessa admitted, grinning slightly. Carolina’s heart lit up at the sight of her smile, warmth spreading through her veins like syrup. She quickly tore her gaze away, focusing on the dirty dishes that the Reds and Blues had left piled up haphazardly in the sink. Damn it, Grif.  

Vanessa moved inwards until their shoulders were close enough to touch, and her hand lightly brushed Carolina’s as she reached for the dish soap. Carolina flinched slightly, a knee-jerk reaction to the other soldier’s touch. Despite the moment passing with Vanessa not seeming to notice that anything had happened, the feeling of her hand on Carolina’s lingered, the former Freelancer’s skin suddenly feeling cold and solitary without her touch.

Carolina realized, with a jolt, how touch starved she was, that the brief brush of another person’s skin on hers had been enough to occupy her mind for so long after. She hadn’t actually held the hand of a person out of armor in years; Project Freelancer, and what followed, had taken up so much of her life that she hadn’t given herself time to think about relationships. 

Carolina had never had a girlfriend in her life. She didn’t know if York really counted as a boyfriend either, since they had never officially dated, which meant she’d never been in a relationship. So, naturally, when Vanessa’s hand touched hers, her main thought was just flustered static. Same when they kept bumping into each other while moving to put the tables away, or when she–

“Carolina?” Kimball wiped her forehead, setting the rag she’d used to clean the tables back down. Her eyes shone warm brown as she glanced at Carolina, a slight smile on her face. 

“Yeah?” She hadn’t noticed she’d been staring, and really hoped Kimball didn’t either. 

“This was nice of you. They needed this.” Kimball stepped really close to her, and the flustered static grew a lot louder. 

“Kimball?”

“Yeah?”

“Could I, uh.” She coughed under her breath, embarrassed by her teenage girl nervousness. She’d been through hell during Project Freelancer, but she still had trouble mustering up the courage to talk to a crush. “Could I kiss you?”

Kimball blushed, freckles standing out on her cheeks, laughter bright and genuine. She moved to close the gap between them.

They stood there embracing for a minute before Kimball pulled back. “I gotta go, I have a lot of meetings tomorrow. This was nice, though. You’re nice.”

Carolina faltered, and ended up forcing out, “Thanks, Elijah.” 

Kimball snorted, doubling over into a bunch of giggles. After a moment, she recovered and raised her head to meet Carolina’s eyes. 

She winked. “See you, Carolina.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally finished!! there i think 2 more chapters coming, they're on the way. thanks for sticking with me, everyone!!  
> also thanks to charlie aka lesbian moses for helpin me with the gay scenes bc i am painfully homosexual


	8. Yahrzeit (York)

The first yahrzeit she observes is York’s, on the anniversary of his death. You were only supposed to observe yahrzeits for the death of a family member, she knew, but the Freelancers  _ had  _ been her family; maybe not in blood, but in spirit. 

Wash tells her when he died; he knows from the reports from when he was Recovery One. He wasn’t as close to him, but he helps her light a candle and they stumble their way through the blessings. Epsilon hovers over her shoulder, glowing dimly like the candlelight. His hologram flickers, and after a moment Delta appears in his place, casting a soft green glow. She shares a glance with him for a moment before turning back to the candle. 

Carolina didn’t hear about York’s death until months after it happened. She never got the chance to properly grieve, being too busy running from the project and trying to stay alive.

Now, after reciting the Kaddish, she crumples, head buried in her hands. Wash reached out, before retracting his hand and deciding to give her space. Church sent a wash of warmth through her bones, reassuring her that he was there if she needed him, and she nodded, wiping tears from her eyes. 

Next year, hopefully, she would light candles for all the freelancers, but supplies were limited and so was information. She’d celebrate CTs as soon as she could, definitely: she’d appreciate it. 

The candle flickering softly in the darkness, like the one she’d lit all those years ago on Aurora. She worries it isn’t enough: she could have done more, she should be doing more. Then she breaths. She was as safe as she could be, surrounded by two friends she’d grown to consider family, and she breaths. 

It’s something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this took so long for something so short, jklsdljkdf. the final chapter will be out later today!


	9. Epsilon’s Yahrzeit (Finale)

After Freelancer collapsed, she got used to being alone. It hurt, but it was better than letting anyone else get close and having them get hurt too.

Then she met Church, and eventually, she wasn’t alone anymore. She had a friend for the first time in years, and a brother for the first time ever. Once she trusted him, she learned to trust others too. She made new friendships and connections. She unlearned the mindset of ‘me against the world’ that her dad had ingrained so deeply into her, and slowly, she got better.

Then Epsilon died without even a goodbye, and she was alone, and she didn’t feel better anymore.

The candle flickered apologetically.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and flinched. She turned slightly, saw the orange armor plating, and went back to grieving. Grif. The rest of Red Team was there too, but they kept their distance. Caboose and Tucker hung back by Wash. 

She mumbled the Kaddish, hanging her head.

She’d lost a lot of people. Allison, Maine, CT, Tex, York, all of the freelancers, and now Epsilon. She’d even lost her younger self: that innocent happy young little kid she’d give anything to still be. 

Breath in. Breath out. The candle holds evenly, warm and bright.

She hadn’t just lost over the years, she’d gained things too. She was stronger: every scar just a reminder of something she’d survived, not something she’d lost.

She was part of something bigger now. Not like Project Freelancer, a place that ensnared you like a fly in a web, but connections. Roots. A community. Thousands of hands holding each other up, supporting each other. The Reds and Blues, the rebels on Chorus, even as a Jew. She belonged.

“You’re not alone, Carolina,” Wash says, voice low. The yellow light of the candle flickers in his eyes.

She nods. 

For the first time in years, she lets herself truly believe it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for supporting me through this. again, this is a deeply personal fic to me, and im so happy to finally share it with you guys.   
> for now, this is the end of candles! im absolutely going to write more jewish content in the future (this fandom needs a lot more of it), so you havent seen the last of me.  
> thank you all for the countless nice comments, they mean the world to me. remember, you arent alone :0

**Author's Note:**

> this is based very heavily on my own experiences, so its pretty personal! any feedback is appreciated (especially if i perpetuate a stereotype on accident. im jewish but i can still fuck up and i wanna know if i do!)
> 
> thank you!


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